


Salvation

by sangha



Series: Bad Religion [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Barebacking, Blow Jobs, Bottom Bucky, Bottom Bucky Barnes, Bucky Barnes Remembers, Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, Clueless grandpas in love, First Time, Fix-It, Heavy-handed religious metaphors, Love Confessions, M/M, Oral Sex, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Requited Love, Top Steve, Top Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-06
Updated: 2017-04-06
Packaged: 2018-10-15 19:42:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10556628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sangha/pseuds/sangha
Summary: The realization that he’s been in love with Steve most of his life doesn’t come as a revelation so much as it’s an acknowledgement of something he never quite managed to forget in the first place. He clearly remembers hearing Steve’s voice say his name, the first time anyone used his name in seventy years. The way it felt like someone calling him home, even if he wasn’t sure what that home looked like anymore. The way Steve’s face felt like comfort, despite the distress etched on his face.Remembering Steve's rejection is just as painful this time around, but much has changed since Bucky's confession during the war.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This story will make a lot more sense if you've read the first part, but if you're reading this as a stand-alone, here's what you need to know: Bucky told Steve he was in love with him in the war and Steve let Bucky know he didn't feel the same way.

The memories return by pieces. He writes down as much as he can, hoping to fit everything into a narrative that might be called a life eventually. Some things are clear early on: he was a soldier long before he became the Soldier. He had a little sister he adored. Others are more confusing. It takes a long time for him to realize that the man he pulled from the water is the same person as the much smaller man from his youth. It takes even longer to remember what happened to Steve to make him look like that. 

Steve features in so many of his memories, it’s not hard to come to the conclusion that Steve mattered to him more than anyone. Those memories hit him hard, make his chest feel warm, a fire alighting in his belly. Bucky feels more than he has in a long time whenever he thinks of Steve. 

The realization that he’s been in love with Steve most of his life doesn’t come as a revelation so much as it’s an acknowledgement of something he never quite managed to forget in the first place. He clearly remembers hearing Steve’s voice say his name, the first time anyone used his name in seventy years. The way it felt like someone calling him home, even if he wasn’t sure what that home looked like anymore. The way Steve’s face felt like comfort, despite the distress etched on his face. 

He’s not sure what happened between them. He doesn’t remember having acted on his feelings, but that doesn’t mean it never happened. There are more than a few gaps in his memory left. He writes down everything, carrying his notebooks with him wherever he goes, from city to city, country to country.

Eventually, he settles on Bucharest. He rents an apartment from an old lady who eyes him suspiciously but is clearly in need of money. He keeps to himself; he wants to find a place he can call home, even if it is tentative. He might have to pack up and leave at a moment’s notice - Steve is still trying to find him and scattered HYDRA agents have been known to show up out of the blue - but for now, this will do. 

Steve came close to finding him a few times, and each time, Bucky wondered if he should just stop running and let Steve find him. Part of him desperately wants to go back to Steve, but realistically, he knows it’s not going to happen. He’s killed too many people. Even if Steve could look past that, the US government wouldn’t. Allowing Steve to find him would only remind him of what he can’t have anymore. It’s better to keep the whole thing at a distance.

His apartment slowly but surely becomes a home. He buys some shitty furniture to fill the space, but at least it’s _his_. Notebooks are scattered all over the place. He rediscovers his sweet tooth and spends money on food he doesn’t really need. The first time he splurges on food feels monumental, the rush of breaking rules he’d followed for far too long even better than the food itself. 

Some days, he likes to sit and leaf through his notebooks, trying to connect the pieces. He decided early on he would keep the Soldier’s memories confined to separate notebooks. He needs to write those down, too, but he doesn’t like to think about them any more than his mind forces him to. 

A fight with Steve catches his eye. They were fighting about some dumb stunt Steve pulled, back in the war, but he couldn’t remember how the fight ended. He reads his own words and suddenly, his brain supplies the rest of the memory. 

_“How long have I been cleaning up after your fights, huh?”_

_“If it’s that much trouble, why’d you do it? Huh? Why are you here, Buck?” A pause. “Buck?”_

_“Because I love you.”_

Steve’s rejection is just as painful this time. He wants to rip the pages from every notebook, he wants to destroy the entire apartment, he wants to go back in time and take back his words, go back to the quiet hoping instead of the pain of knowing with absolute certainty that the love of his life will never love him. 

He does none of those things. Instead, he goes on, living quietly in Bucharest, praying to whatever God is listening that Steve will not find him.

\----------------------

All of Bucky’s careful plans fall apart along with that explosion at the UN. He doesn’t realize everyone is on the lookout for him until it’s too late. Steve’s already standing in his apartment, looking at one of his notebooks, the one with Steve’s picture in it. Of course he picked that one. 

Bucky doesn’t know how to react around Steve. He pretends he doesn’t really know who Steve is and of course Steve calls him on his bullshit. 

“You pulled me from the river. Why?” Steve asks.

“I don’t know.” It’s a bold-faced lie and they both know it.

“Yes, you do.” 

They both know the real answer to this question. It’s a cruel mimicry of the fight they had all those years ago. The answer is always the same. It will always be because he loves Steve. He almost says it, just to see if the words have a different effect this time.

He never gets the chance. All hell breaks loose in his tiny apartment. 

\----------------------

Steve’s movements are stilted around him. It’s not the way he remembers their youth: the easy touches, the casual affection. He’s not sure if it’s because Steve is trying not to send any mixed signals or because Steve wants to keep his distance from the Soldier. 

Still, they work well together. They know each other, even after all this time. Their movements in battle are automatic, a well-oiled machine that could never rust, no matter how many years have come between them. Bucky doesn’t even have to think about going back to their old techniques and tricks. It comes to him naturally, like breathing. 

It’s the moments in between the fighting, when they’re alone, so much unspoken history between them, that neither of them know how to act or what to say. Long silences fill the spaces they occupy and every word is measured, never casual. 

Bucky can’t help but think about how much he’s destroying, for Steve and everyone who sided with Steve. He’s put everyone at risk, and for what? Why should his life be worth more than anyone else’s? He finally voices his concerns on the way to Siberia.

“I don’t know if I’m worth all this, Steve.” Why should Steve risk everything for him? He could be happy without Bucky, he should take that chance.

It’s quiet for a moment. “What you did all those years...It wasn’t you. You didn’t have a choice.” 

Absolution is not what Bucky’s looking for now. “I know. But I did it.”

Steve throws him a look that is painfully familiar. A look that says, I’ll fight you on this. Bucky knows better than to argue with that look. 

They revert to silence, until Steve breaks it. He puts the jet on autopilot and sits down next to Bucky. “How much do you remember?”

“A lot.” Too much. 

“You remember the war?”

“Yeah, most of it.” 

“Remember that mission in Austria? The one where I almost got shot by that sniper. We had to take out a HYDRA base and-” 

“I remember,” Bucky cuts him off. Steve is sitting too close. He doesn’t like where this conversation is headed.

“We had a fight,” Steve says quietly.

“I know.” Bucky’s voice is clipped.

“I’m sorry.” 

“About what?” Bucky’s fists are clenched. He wants to yell at Steve for bringing this up, dredging this shit up again, he wants to punch Steve, he wants to kiss Steve, he wants a million things he can’t have, and all he does is sit there, with his fists clenched.

Steve sighs. “Everything.” His blue eyes are swimming with tears.

Bucky looks at his face, wonders if he’s imagining the regret he sees there. He can’t go down this rabbit hole, certainly not now. Steve made it more than clear how he felt back then, he shouldn’t delude himself into thinking that’s changed. “But here we are, off on a stupid fucking mission again, all cause you couldn’t back down from a fight,” Bucky says, trying to lighten the mood. Anything to get away from this topic.

Steve snorts. “I missed your asshole comments.” His face softens then. “I missed you.” 

The words feel like a gut punch. He doesn’t know how to respond. He missed Steve more than he can say in the last two years, but saying as much brings them back to the topic he so desperately wants to avoid. Missing Steve was a physical presence in his chest and even now that he’s right here, sitting next to Bucky, it’s not completely gone. He doesn’t have what they used to have. “Steve,” he says.

“What?”

“I don’t want to go there.” 

Steve’s face falls. “Okay,” he says, venturing a smile. “It’s just...it’s good to have you back, Buck.” 

\-----------------------

In the end, Bucky can’t justify living this way. Not when he’s a threat to everyone around him. T’Challa assures him they can find a fix. That they can put him in cryo and it’ll be peaceful. That when he comes out, the triggers will be gone. That they can develop a new prosthetic arm for him, if he likes. 

Steve doesn’t say much during those conversations. He’s a silent presence by Bucky’s side, a carefully neutral look on his face. Bucky hates it. Steve’s face is usually so easy to read; this mask is unlike him. 

All he does is ask Bucky if he’s sure when Bucky makes the decision to go back in cryo. “You’re sure this is what you want?”

Bucky nods. “I don’t want to hurt anyone anymore.” Besides, a voice in his head adds, it might be nice to get away from all this for a while. 

Steve nods, resigned. He’s smiling, but it’s the same smile he carries whenever he’s upset about something. Bucky has always wanted to kiss that smile away. 

\-------------------------

T’Challa keeps his promise. When Bucky wakes up, it’s to the news that the triggers have been removed. They begin to explain it to him, but it involved a lot of poking around in his brain and Bucky doesn’t want to hear about it. He trusts T’Challa enough to believe he wouldn’t lie to him, certainly not about this. 

Steve is still in Wakanda. The Accords fell apart soon after another madman tried to take over the planet and most of the Avengers were kept from fighting him because of their fugitive status. Stark and Vision couldn’t take him on on their own. It didn’t take long for people to forgive and forget when they were threatened.

Steve had decided to make Wakanda his home while Bucky was in cryo, occasionally going on missions with the rest of the Avengers. Bucky had expected him to be back in Brooklyn by now. 

“How are you feeling?” Steve asks.

“Fine, I think.” Bucky stretches, feeling the stiff muscles move for the first time in a long time. He feels calmer than he had in ages. “Why are you still here?” Bucky asks, confused.

Steve avoids his eyes. “I couldn’t leave you again.” 

Bucky’s heart skips a beat before remembering that it doesn’t mean anything. He decides to ignore it. “So you live here now?”

“Yeah. Wakanda doesn’t usually accept outsiders, but T’Challa was kind enough to let me stay. Special circumstances, I suppose.” Steve pauses for a moment. “It’s a big apartment. Got a spare room.” The unsaid offer hangs in the air. “It’ll be like old times,” Steve adds.

“Nothing’s like old times,” Bucky retorts. 

Steve sighs. “I know. But we could try?”

Bucky has never been good at denying Steve, that will be true in this life and in the next. 

The few things he brought with him to Wakanda are already at Steve’s, for safekeeping. All he has to do is go with Steve. He’s always followed Steve. This time is no different.

\-------------------------

Living with Steve is familiar and awkward at the same time. Bucky remembers the way Steve gets distracted and leaves dirty dishes all over the house, the way he’ll forget to do laundry until he’s all but run out of clothes, the way he spends hours drawing in every corner of the apartment, inhabiting every inch of their shared space. 

But the elephant in the room is always there. Their conversations are stifled, end whenever Steve makes an offhand comment that comes too close to affection. Their movements are stilted, afraid to bump into each other. Their manner is too polite, lacking the casual banter of friends. 

To make matters worse, Steve seems completely oblivious. Either that, or he’s actually trying to make Bucky feel like shit. He’ll say things like, “Remember that time you got those tickets to a Dodgers game? Still don’t know how you did that, but it was one of the best days of my life,” or, “Things weren’t the same without you,” and leave Bucky stumbling for a response. Sometimes he goes a step further. “Not a day goes by without regretting that I didn’t go after you on that train,” or, “I don’t know what I would have done if I hadn’t found you again.” Every single one of these is like a stab to the heart. 

It’s one of those days where it feels too hot to live. Bucky isn’t made for this kind of heat, and neither is Steve, so it seems. Bucky is lying on the floor, while Steve is sprawled out on the couch, neither of them moving much. 

“God, this reminds me,” Steve begins. “Remember that year, when was it? There was a heat wave, right around my birthday. ‘33, ‘34 maybe? You gave me those fancy paints. I think I yelled at you for spending too much money on them. You told me to shut up. Remember that?”

Bucky’s breath is stuck in his throat. “Yeah.” He’d never again forget the look on Steve’s face as he unwrapped those presents. The realization that the warmth in his belly he felt every time he looked at Steve meant something other than friendship quite literally changed his life. 

“I loved those paints. Only used them for special occasions.” Steve smiles at the memory.

“Yeah? Like what?” Bucky turns his head to focus on Steve now.

“Couple of portraits of you.” Steve’s tone is casual enough, but his words are once again teetering on that edge that’s been taunting Bucky for weeks now.

“Steve. Stop it,” Bucky says, turning his head back to resume staring at the ceiling.

Steve sits up. “Stop what?” 

“This.” Bucky gestures vaguely. “This thing you’re doing. It’s not helping.”

“What am I doing?” Bucky is not looking at Steve, but he can tell he must be frowning.

Bucky sighs, still resolutely looking at the ceiling. “Saying shit like you missed me or painting me was a special occasion. I know you want things to go back to the way they were, but this is not helping.” He ventures a look at Steve, whose face is all confusion. He’s going to have to spell it out for Steve. He always was clueless. “Stop making me think you could love me back. I know you’re not doing it on purpose, but just, stop.” The words rush out of his mouth; he just wants to get them over with.

Steve is quiet for far too long, just like last time. They’re never going to get past this. Bucky feels tears stinging behind his eyelids and he covers his eyes with his arm. He doesn’t want to cry, not now.

“What if I could?” 

Bucky moves his arm, opens his eyes. “What?” 

“What if I _could_ love you back?” Steve is biting his lip, looking unsure but dead serious. 

Bucky sits up slowly, his heart pounding away in his chest, seemingly trying to make a break for it. He doesn’t want to let himself hope, but Steve’s words sound an awful lot like a benediction. “Do you?”

Steve nods. “Yeah, Buck.” 

“Tell me.” He needs to hear the words, needs to see Steve’s lips move to form them.

“I love you, Buck.” 

The tears finally spill over. “Jesus Christ, why didn’t you say so before?” He’s laughing and crying at the same time.

Steve’s laughing now, too. “I didn’t know if you still felt that way. And you kept cutting off every conversation, I didn’t know what to think.” 

“Oh my God, we’re idiots.” Bucky’s laughter turns a little hysterical, the absurdity of the situation slowly sinking in. 

When their laughter finally dies down, Steve moves down from the couch, kneeling next to Bucky. They’re close enough that Bucky can feel Steve’s breath on his face. “Hey,” Steve says, cupping Bucky’s jaw and pulling him impossibly closer. 

Bucky barely gets out a “hey” of his own before Steve closes the distance and kisses him. It’s slow and gentle, exploring each other by touch and lips and tongue. Bucky never wants the moment to end, and when Steve pulls back a little, Bucky chases his mouth, not willing to let this go just yet. Steve laughs lightly, the most delightful sound Bucky has heard in ages, and he comes back to Bucky willingly. 

It feels better than Bucky could have ever hoped for. Nothing could match the softness of Steve’s lips, the tiny gasps, his fingernails lightly scratching Bucky’s scalp. He lies back down, pulling Steve with him, needing to feel Steve’s weight on top of him. 

They stay like that for what might be hours or days, until their lips are numb and Steve finally settles with his head over Bucky’s heart, fingers tracing idle patterns on Bucky’s chest. This is real.

“So what changed?” Bucky asks.

It’s quiet for a long while, too long. Steve’s hand stops moving on his chest. What if he realizes now that this was all a mistake after all? 

“You came back,” Steve finally says, and Bucky lets out a deep breath. “Seeing you again, it…” His voice trails off. He moves off Bucky, sitting cross-legged on the floor beside him. “You know, Nat kept trying to set me up on dates. I never took her up on it. When you came back, well...she said something like, ‘So, it’s him, huh?’” Steve smiles a little at the memory. “I didn’t know what she meant at first. But seeing you there, knowing you were still here...Nothing mattered if you weren’t with me.” He looks down at his hands in his lap. “Sam noticed it, too, you know? He tried to find you as hard as I did, he knew how important it was to me. He asked me point blank one time, while we were chasing a lead in the Czech Republic, if we were more than friends. I’d thought about it, about that fight we had, a lot. I told him I just didn’t know anymore.” He lifts his head, looks at Bucky. “Sam said, ‘I think you do.’” 

Bucky raises his eyebrows. He’d butted heads with Sam, but it seems he owes him a thank you. 

“Then he launched into an explanation of how things were different now, it wasn’t the same for men like that.” Steve snorts at the memory. “I told him where we grew up, the things we saw in every other alley. Everyone thinks I’m so innocent,” he says, eyes twinkling.

Bucky smiles. “You’re a national icon, buddy. They have to think of you that way.”

“You never did,” Steve counters.

“No, well, I heard you cuss at guys twice your size, I know better.” He sits up, already resenting the physical distance between them. “Wouldn’t have you any other way,” he adds, voice soft, hand reaching out to pull Steve closer, picking up where they left off earlier. He can’t imagine ever tiring of kissing Steve, of feeling Steve’s hand running through his hair or cupping his jaw or sliding up under his shirt or tugging at the hem to pull it off. Steve looks at Bucky, gently pushes him back down, kisses down the column of Bucky’s neck, traces each scar on his chest, first with his fingers, then with his mouth. He moves lower still, finding the traces of cuts and bullet wounds on Bucky’s belly, determined not to miss a single one. Bucky is squirming under Steve’s touch, the slowness and the heat just this side of unbearable. 

Steve gives him a look Bucky can’t quite decipher and in one swift move, he pulls Bucky up and lifts him, legs around his waist, carrying him to Steve’s bedroom. 

“Show-off,” Bucky mutters.

Steve laughs, kisses a spot on the side of Bucky’s neck. “You complainin’?” 

“Wouldn’t dare.” 

“Good,” Steve grins. He lays Bucky down on the bed, following him down. He briefly retraces his earlier path, until he’s kissing a path below Bucky’s belly button, a hand on his thigh, Bucky’s heart beating so frantically he thinks it must be visible to the naked eye. Steve’s other hand lands on Bucky’s waistband, a question in his eyes, and Bucky nods, lifting his hips, allowing Steve to expose even more skin. 

He thinks he might go insane when Steve kisses along the length of the scars on his thighs. “Steve, please,” he hears himself beg. 

When Steve finally takes him in his mouth, he swears his brain short-circuits. His hand comes to rest on top of Steve’s head, fingers tangled in his hair, hips arching up slightly and Steve doing nothing to stop him. He’s moaning softly, losing himself in this moment. The warmth of Steve’s mouth on him is overwhelming, too much all at once. He has to utter a warning embarrassingly quickly. Steve shoots him a look that tells him he’s not moving, a familiar stubbornness in his eyes. It’s enough to set him off. Steve splutters a little but doesn’t move until he’s sure Bucky’s completely spent. He kisses his way back up Bucky’s body, lingering at his neck. 

It’s the first orgasm Bucky has had at the hands of someone else in over seventy years, and yet, Steve is the one giving Bucky a look of pure adoration, as if Bucky is the light of his world, instead of the other way around. He pulls Steve down for a kiss, can taste himself on Steve’s tongue, feels heady at the knowledge that he gave a part of himself to Steve, that his body has fused with Steve’s.

His hand travels down the length of Steve’s back until he finds the hem of his shirt, tugs at it to get it off. Steve breaks the kiss to comply with Bucky’s silent request. 

“Jesus Christ,” Bucky whispers. He’s seen Steve like this before, but he didn’t have permission to look and touch and feel then. It’s different now, knowing that he can drink in the sight of Steve, that there are no repercussions for wanting this, no condemnation waiting for him. Unlike Bucky, Steve’s chest and abdomen are completely smooth, not a single scar or mark on him, just endlessly beautiful skin that has seen so many battles, yet emerged blessedly unscathed.

Steve blushes, looking away bashfully. “Hey,” Bucky begins. “You know I loved you before all this, right?” He loved Steve when his ribs showed and he was all angles and bones, when his heart was too big for his chest. The only difference now is that he grew into his large heart.

Steve smiles, blue eyes locking with his. “Yeah, I know.” 

“Doesn’t hurt, though,” Bucky adds, grinning slyly, looking Steve up and down. 

Steve laughs, burying his head in the crook of Bucky’s neck.

“Hey Steve,” Bucky says once his laughter has died down. 

“Hmm?”

“You’re still wearing too many clothes.”

“Yeah?” 

“Hmhmm.” Bucky’s hand wanders down to Steve’s lower back, his fingertips dipping beneath the waistband, moving to the front. He brushes past a spot on Steve’s hipbone and Steve twitches in response, so of course, Bucky does it again. Steve laughs and squirms, and it delights Bucky to know that the serum couldn’t fix Steve being ticklish. 

When Steve is breathless with laughter, he finally undoes the button on Steve’s pants and pulls down the zipper. He tries to push his pants down, but it’s no easy task with Steve’s bulk on top of him and only one hand at his disposal. Steve moves off Bucky, making quick work of the remainder of his clothes. He comes back to Bucky, finally creating complete skin to skin contact. 

It’s electric, the way their bodies feel against each other. Bucky arches up at the same moment that Steve grinds down, Steve letting out a broken moan at the sensation. Bucky wants to hear that sound over and over again. He wraps his legs around Steve’s waist, pushes him down with the heels of his feet, Steve’s moans clear in his ear. He takes hold of Steve’s left wrist, raises it to his mouth, sucks Steve’s index and middle fingers into his mouth, keeping his eyes trained on Steve, whose pupils are blown wide and is breathing heavily. He guides Steve’s hand back down, intent clear, Steve’s fingers pressed lightly against his entrance.

“Buck. You sure?” Steve asks breathlessly. 

Bucky can’t resist rolling his eyes a little, smiles. “Wanted this since 1934. Yeah, I’m sure.” 

Steve kisses him, pushes in as Bucky breathes out, a small noise caught in Bucky’s throat. It’s a strange, but not unpleasant sensation. There’s a slight burn, but Steve’s kisses offer enough of a distraction for it not to matter. 

“Okay?” Steve asks.

“Hmm, yeah.”

Steve curls his finger then, Bucky’s back arching, a moan spilling from his lips. He doesn’t have to tell Steve to do it again. He rubs that spot over and over until Bucky is begging for more. He carefully adds another finger, the burn increasing. Steve notices, frowns, stops. “Hang on,” he says, carefully pulling out his fingers and moving to the bedside table. He returns with a small plastic bottle, pours some of the liquid on his fingers. “How’s that?” he asks, the slide in infinitely smoother now. 

“Good. Really good,” Bucky replies, a little breathless.

Steve repeats his movements from before, slowly pushing Bucky beyond the edge, until he is reduced to a moaning, sweaty mess. Steve never speeds up, just keeps a slow and steady rhythm that drives Bucky absolutely insane.

“Were you always this much of a tease?” Bucky sighs.

Steve grins, kisses Bucky and momentarily speeds up his movements, before going back to the excruciatingly slow rhythm. “No idea what you’re talking about.” He keeps going a little while longer, just to mess with Bucky, he’s sure, before finally removing his fingers and lining himself up. “Okay?” he asks again.

“Yeah. C’mon,” He pushes the heel of his foot against Steve, encouraging him. 

The slide in is slow, fulfilling in ways he can’t begin to describe. Steve is everywhere, around him, on top of him, in him, making soft sounds of pleasure; quiet gasps that get louder with every slow thrust. 

And maybe this is what salvation feels like. This feeling that nothing matters except the two of them, right here, finally fitting together. 

The control Steve had exerted earlier is slowly slipping, his movements less measured, getting lost in his own pleasure. 

Bucky’s been floating for a while now; he’s sure he’s got the dopiest expression on his face, but it doesn’t even matter. Steve is here, with him, right where he’s wanted him for so long, bringing Bucky closer to release with every thrust, every kiss, every touch. 

Steve’s sounds are getting louder, more desperate. “Buck, I’m close,” he says, panting.

Bucky pulls him down for a sloppy kiss, too far gone for refined technique at this point. “Harder. Wreck me,” Bucky says, voice low in Steve’s ear. 

Steve stills for a moment, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, before finally giving Bucky the feeling he’s been chasing most of his life. He doesn’t hold back, the sounds of skin on skin only being drowned out by Bucky’s moans and Steve’s grunts. Steve impossibly speeds up, grinds against that spot inside of Bucky, and Bucky is done for, could swear he knows what deliverance feels like now. Moments later, he feels Steve spilling inside of him, the sensation uncomfortable were it not for the knowledge that he carries a piece of Steve inside himself now.

Steve collapses on top of him, muttering, “Jesus Christ” a few times.

Bucky rubs his hand up and down Steve’s back, waiting for his breathing to slow down. “We should do that again sometime,” he says, a smile in his voice.

Steve giggles - honest to God _giggles_ \- and lifts his head enough to kiss Bucky. “I could do this all day,” he says, wiggling his eyebrows.

“You’re ridiculous,” Bucky says, laughing. “I love you.” Now that he finally can, he wants to say it a million times more. “I love you,” he repeats, Steve’s eyes sparking with life as he takes Bucky in; the words, already familiar, forming a new prayer. 

**Author's Note:**

> Cry with me about Bucky Barnes on [tumblr](http://hufflepuffbuckybarnes.tumblr.com/).


End file.
